The Hanging Tree
by Glitter weaver
Summary: This story is based on the first stanza in 'The Hanging Tree'. It follows Peeta and Katniss' daughter; Willow. It isn't finished yet so I'll keep adding chapters to cover each line of the first stanza. Over time, I hope to do the other stanza's in other stories. Please review!
1. Are you, are you coming to the tree?

_'Are you, Are you coming to the tree?'_

From the moment I was born, it was there; the tree. Father and I identified the leaves using his plant book and found it to be a Willow, the tree I was named after. Mother said that she saw the tree when she was growing up and she used to play with her sister, Primrose.

They really don't talk about their childhood to us. When we ask them about it, mom just sits there silently staring into the distance and dad will get up and walk away or change the subject. Mom and dad did, when we were younger, explain why they are so reluctant to talk about their past. There was something called 'The Hunger Games' where a girl and boy from each district would go in and kill each other for victory. They didn't go into much detail for fear of scaring us. Mum explained why every few weeks or so, dad would sit backwards on a chair gripping the arm-rests, grunting and panting and squeezing his eyes tightly together- sometimes even screaming. A poison was injected into dad years ago, morphing good memories into bad ones. All of our questions were never answered about these happenings, so we learnt to quiet our curiosity.

'Rye! Come quickly! The birds are hatching!' I shouted to my younger brother as we raced to the old Willow. The Willow wasn't overly weeping like ones painted in fathers book. It had very strong branches that are perfect for climbing or using to hold a swing. We raced up the small mound to the tree- it was a cold, windy day the kind of day that if we weren't quick enough out, mom would shout at us to put something warm on. Or dad would chase us up the street with our jumpers.

As we neared the tree the sound of chirping was quite evident. We slipped off our shoes and hid them in the roots. The grass was scratchy under our feet so we began to climb up the branches. This tree was a second home to Rye and I, we knew each little groove and bump on the bark. As we neared the nest, chirping became louder and louder. I mouthed to Rye _stay here; let me check it out first_, he nodded and sat on a branch. I climbed a little more until I saw them. They were beautiful; three little Mockingjays being fed by their mother and father. I quietly whistled a four-note tune to them. One mother taught me in my room when I was little and afraid of the dark.

'_If you whistle this little song when you're afraid- you will become brave. It is a prayer- giving the voice whom uses it and those whom hear it courage, hope and strength. If you need reassurance the Mockingjays will pass it on to me and her-' mom took a short break and whispered 'Rue. Rue will keep you safe if I'm not here.' _

So I whistled the song and the family of Mockingjays listened and repeated it. Each one had a different pitch and together, it was a beautiful harmonisation.

'This is for you, mom. It's for you too Rue- even though I don't know you, I know you are here, watching Rye and I and protecting us,' I said it into the air and began to climb back down to where Rye was seated, letting him climb up to see the new family and I took his seat. As I sat on that branch and looked at my surroundings, the wind picked up, blowing some of the many daisies dotted on the hill into the air twisting and turning to form a living sculpture of a young girl; Rue.

'Look over here Rye- come down,' Rye began descending and turned to face what I was looking at. He too saw her and his jaw dropped wide open. Rue blew us a kiss and then disappeared as quickly as she came leaving in both of our hands; a crown of daisies and one extra in my hand with blue and white daisies with a note attached. _Katniss _was written on it in small, bird like writing.

We wore the daisy crowns home and gave the one with blue and white daisies to mom.

'These are beautifully crafted- did you buy them?' Mom asked us when we gave her the crown.

'No mom' Rye answered 'They appeared in our hands after we saw a girl made of daisies.' A spark of curiosity went into mom's eyes and dad looked up eagerly.

'Oh really?' he said 'and whom might that have been?'

Rye was about to answer when I cut him off 'Rue' I said matter-of-factly.

Mum stood up and walked off, leaving the crown on the kitchen table. The door leading outside slammed.

'Go up to your room now! Do not come out until tomorrow, when I say so. No more stories- you have no idea how much these stories affect your mother! Don't ever go back to the tree!' Dad screamed at us. Rye and I began to trudge up the stairs and went into our rooms. Once again I heard the same door slam and then they lock turning. I stared outside my window to see dad running down the street, looking for mom.

Sulkily, I went and laid on my black silken bed staring at the pink walls that surrounded me. The walls had a border close to the floor that had painted golden daisies on it. There was a large wooden dresser in the left corner and a dressing table on the right.

_I hate my room- it is far too girly for me. I'm thirteen bloody years old and my favourite colour is blue!_ I spitefully thought to myself.

I fell asleep for a few hours and woke up when it was dark. I looked at my clock and it read 7:30. I heard the clatter of cutlery downstairs and the smell of cooked Venison and dad's freshly baked bread wafted up to my room. Voices were coming from downstairs; mom, dad and Haymitch.

_I have to go back to the Willow. _I thought to myself as I shrugged on some long pants and a black jumper. I opened the window and cold air blew into my face. Quickly I jumped out- freefalling for seconds until I landed on the grass on my feet. I ran up the road to the hill. Breathless from the cold air, I crawled up the hill until I saw the tree. When I reached the tree, I lent on it- puffing and gasping for air.

Dad told me not to go back to the tree, but I didn't listen;

_I came to the tree._


	2. Where they hung a man who murdered three

_'Where they hung a man they say murdered three'_

There was a shadow cast on the other side of the tree. It was the shape of a fully-grown man, muscular with an elongated neck. Or maybe it was just the shadow that made it look like there was something wrong with his neck. I snuck around the other side of the Willow; I stood on a twig and snapped it making a loud noise.

'Ah- so I have a visitor,' the man looked around for me. 'Come out, darling I know you are there.' I shuffled out into his view. He lit a match and then lit his small lantern and shone it into my face.

'So who do I have the pleasure to meet?' The man asked me.

'Depends,' I said 'Who's asking?' I crossed my arms and tried to make myself look big.

'Oooh- a clever one hasn't had the pleasure of one of them for a long time. My name is Brett,' He gave a crooked smile that showed rotten teeth and black gums.

'Willow. Willow Mellark,' I saw something gleam in his hand; a knife. _Oh my God- he has a knife! I'm gonna die. This is it._ I thought to myself as I began to back away slowly. Brett realised that I saw the knife, he closed his fist and it disappeared with a poof of smoke that curled into the winter air. I studied the man closely; his neck was purple and had a raw skin ring around the middle of his neck. His head looked shrunken and he was wearing tattered rags.

'How did you make that knife disappear?' I asked unamused.

'Quite simply; I didn't. It wasn't really here.' He replied with an equally flat tone. Panic started rising in my chest- fluttering like a trapped bird. _ If it wasn't here- how did I see it?_

I pointed to Brett's scar and purple skin on his neck. He sensed what I was trying to ask.

'I was hung, my girl, a very long time ago. I had whispered death into three people's ears; the almighty President Snow's great-great-grandfather who once lived here, the great-great grandmother of your father and the daughter of the mayor.' He took a break to catch his breath and then continued 'I was trialled many times and escaped, after the fifth year they caught me at this tree they hung me on the spot. See up there- that's where I was hung.' He pointed to a high up branch that had a rope and noose hanging off it.

It was the same rope Rye and I used to make a swing when we were younger. We used to climb up with a spare rope and a plank of wood to make a swing. I took a brief moment to reminisce. _Rye and I sharing the seat getting blown in the breeze. Back and forth we would swing, being pushed by an invisible force. Mom finding us up there- yelling at us for being so stupid and then being silent on the walk home. _

'So we were swinging on your death sentence.' I felt guilty for using the rope as a play toy.

'Yes- you were and it was your great-great- grandfather on your mother's side that hung me because he was in love with one of my victims. You look so much like him and her; it would be a pleasure to take you too. Then you could meet them.'

I didn't realise what he had meant until it was too late. He clenched his fist and the knife reappeared. I backed away as fast as I could but I was too slow. My foot became tangled with a root and I stumbled backwards. _This is it- goodbye mommy and daddy. Goodbye Rye and Haymitch- I love you all._

He lunged forward and held the knife to my throat- ready to slit it. I shut my eyes closely together- waiting to die. People always scream before they die, even though it makes no difference. I've put it down to cowardice, so I didn't scream, I whistled a four note tune- Rue's prayer.

Dad told me not to go back to the tree, but I didn't listen;

_'The man was about to murder his forth'_


End file.
